The hospital courtyard had been transformed for the opening ceremony. Rows of folding chairs filled the space beneath a white canopy, and the smell of new grass mixed with the faint sweetness of flowers lining the stage. Nurses, patients, and reporters moved about, their chatter swelling and fading like the tide.
Dranred stood near the half-court section of the new rehab wing, bouncing a basketball gently against the rubber floor. The kids had been waiting all morning, jittery with excitement. Beside him, Rosette sat with her guitar, fingers brushing the strings, tuning by ear. Every few seconds, she smiled toward the children's voices, orienting herself by sound alone.
"You good?" Dranred asked quietly.
"I'm ready," she said. "You?"
He smirked. "I was born ready."
She tilted her head toward him, lips curving. "Overconfident as ever."
"Occupational hazard."
Their exchange drew a few amused looks from the nearby nurses. Dranred didn't care. It had been years since anything felt this light.
When Dr. Lopez called the program to order, the crowd hushed. The mayor gave a short speech, followed by a few sponsors. Then Lopez turned to the stage.
"Today marks the start of something important," he said. "For every child learning to walk again, for every athlete learning to live again—and for everyone learning to forgive again."
Dranred felt the words land squarely in his chest. He glanced toward Estelle, who stood near the edge of the platform, clipboard in hand, her expression calm but distant.
"And now," Lopez continued, "we'll begin with a demonstration from our therapy and music program—Coach Masterson and Miss Rosette Christopher."
Applause rippled through the courtyard. Dranred and Rosette stepped forward together. She found his arm instinctively, and he guided her gently to the center of the mat.
"Hello, everyone," Dranred began, his voice amplified through the small mic clipped to his collar. "I've played in a lot of arenas, but this one's got the most heart I've ever seen."
A few cheers rose from the back. He nodded toward Rosette. "And this is Rosette. She's the real coach today."
She laughed softly. "That's not true."
"Sure it is," he said. "She's going to lead us with a song while we warm up. Trust me—if you can move to her rhythm, you'll be unstoppable."
The children giggled. Rosette lifted the guitar, her fingers finding the first chord. The music was bright and steady, the melody she'd finished at last. Dranred began tossing the ball gently from one child to another, turning it into a simple exercise—catch, throw, step, breathe.
The courtyard filled with movement and laughter. Each time a ball slipped or rolled away, Dranred sprinted to retrieve it, making a joke, keeping the kids grinning. Rosette followed his rhythm perfectly, her voice clear, carrying over the sound of bouncing balls.
For a moment, Estelle forgot to take notes. She just watched—Dranred moving beside her sister with effortless care, Rosette smiling in pure joy. They looked like light and motion, two halves of a song she hadn't realized was still playing.
When the music ended, the children erupted in applause. Dranred turned to Rosette, unable to hide his grin. "Told you. Unstoppable."
She lowered the guitar. "Maybe it wasn't the song," she said softly. "Maybe it was who they were listening to."
He blinked, caught off guard. "You mean you?"
"I mean us," she said, smiling.
From her post by the stage, Estelle's hand tightened on her clipboard. She could read the look in Dranred's eyes—the kind of look she'd once known too well.
And just like that, the opening ceremony stopped being about charity. It became the first clear moment when everyone—especially Estelle—realized something had changed.
The applause from the ceremony still echoed down the hallway as Estelle marched toward the locker room. The smell of sweat and floor wax clung to the air, familiar and grounding. She spotted Dranred by the benches, wiping his face with a towel. He looked up when she entered.
"You were great out there," he said. "They loved you."
Her voice came out colder than she intended. "I wasn't the one they were watching."
He froze for half a second, then smirked. "You mean Rosie?"
"Don't call her that," she snapped.
He blinked, taken aback. "Why not? I used to call her that all the time, before. It's what everyone calls her."
"She's my sister," Estelle said. "Not one of your teammates. Everything between you and her is all in the past. Just like we are keeping things professional, you should also do the same with Rosette. Don't hurt her. She has suffered a lot."
The silence between them stretched thin. The buzz of the old fluorescent light filled the gap.
Finally, Dranred dropped the towel onto the bench. "All right. You're mad. Say what you need to say."
She crossed her arms. "You know exactly what I need to say. You shouldn't be anywhere near her."
He leaned back, studying her. "That's not your call."
"The hell it isn't. She's blind, Dranred. She doesn't see what you're doing."
He took a step closer. "She sees more than you think."
"That's not the point!" Estelle's voice cracked slightly. "You walk in here after ten years like none of it matters, like you can just—what?—redeem yourself by smiling at children and strumming guitars with her?"
Dranred exhaled slowly. "This isn't about redemption anymore."
"Then what is it about?"
He didn't answer at once. His jaw worked, the muscles tight. When he spoke, his voice was low, steady. "It's about the only person who makes me feel like I can breathe again." The words hit her harder than he meant them to.
Estelle's hands dropped to her sides. "Don't," she whispered. "Don't do that to her. Don't do that to me."
He looked down, guilt flickering across his face. "I didn't plan it. You know I didn't."
"You don't get to 'plan' feelings for my sister."
"Maybe not," he said, meeting her gaze again. "But I'm not going to lie about them either."
For a long moment, neither spoke. Outside, the laughter of children drifted faintly through the window.
Estelle's eyes glistened, but her voice stayed calm. "She trusts you, Dranred. Don't make that another mistake she has to survive."
He swallowed. "You know, I care about Rosette."
"Then prove it," she said. "Stay professional. Keep your distance."
He nodded once, slowly. "If that's what she wants."
"She doesn't know what she wants," Estelle said, the words trembling now. "She's too kind to see the line you're crossing."
Dranred didn't move. "And what about you?"
"What about me?"
"You see it. You hate it. But part of you—" He stopped himself. "Never mind."
She turned toward the door. "You're right. Never mind."
She left before he could say another word, heels striking hard against the floor. Red watched her go, the sound fading down the corridor.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaled, and stared at the empty doorway. "Too late," he murmured. "The line's already gone."